poem – Page 2 – My Spirals

I have some questions.

Do participate in my give-away. It is really easy to do so. Rules are : here. Also, what questions do you have?

What made me fall so crazily in love with you?
Was it the way your wrinkled eyes,
And the curve of your smile looked exactly the same,
Or was it the way you traced your fingers down by back,
Like a map to the end of a rainbow?

How have I listened to your stories everyday,
about how you only ate half a sandwich,
and what your shitty job has to offer,
But never written my own?

Why have I poured and poured myself,
Into the infinity that you are,
And never realized that I was almost empty?

When did I stop holding myself together,
stop being my own tape and glue,
Just to stop you from falling apart?

How have I been everything for you,
And nothing for myself?

Why are you the protagonist,
in my biography?

Did I really mess myself up this bad?

Instagram: myspirals
Previous post : An overused cliché.
Related post : My darkness.

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞

How often do you think about me?

When someone touches your hair,
Laughs at your jokes,
Hurts you,
Or just watches you giggle endlessly,
Do you wish that it was me?
When someone pushes you away
To pull you closer,
Looks in your eyes
And smiles with curled lips
And crinkled eyes,
Do you wish that it was me?

When someone gives you roses,
Chocolates,
Or adventure and Love,
When someone wraps his arm
around your shoulders,
Do you wish it was my heartbeat,
My arms and my warm grip,
Do you wish that it was me?

When someone holds your hands,
Rubs your palms,
Kisses the back of your hand,
Holds it forever,
Do you wish it was the folds of my fingers,
And hope in my eyes?
Do you wish it was me?

Do you think about me as often
As blades think of cutting,
And the band-aid of healing?

Do you, as often
As the sun of burning,
And the water of drowning?

Do you think about me as often
As the clock of ticking away,
And the days of making us wait?

Do you think about me as often
As I think of you,
Or not at all?

Instagram handle: @myspirals
Previous post : Kafka, Chekhov and guns.
Related post : Grey.

Give me prompts in the comment section below and share if you liked this!

Inside my head.

What do I think about? Is it love or my family?
Or is it a wonder trip and all-nighters?

I think of rainbow unicorns,
with soft wavy hair like my mother used to have,
and a horn that sharpens as a spiral,
much like my thoughts.
It has eyes like me father’s,
and crooked teeth that remind me,
of my sister.
It’s my family unicorn and it gallops in the sky.
I love them.
It’s not perfect, but it’s beautiful.
Also ironically, real.

I think of Christmas trees,
with a line of golden bells and colorful things
that hold within them,
stories of smiles and tears.
It is green and smells like a new day,
and looks exactly like what I drew it to be,
back in second grade.
I am a pirate and it’s my treasure box.
I love my memories.
It’s not perfect, but it has a star.
Also ironically, the star is from the sky.

I think of hearts on the corner of folded pages,
with red sketched inside of it,
a red that reminds me of my girlfriends stubbornness,
and how she blushes.
The paper is creased but the heart is still complete,
and it reminds me of a very old,
romanticized war.
It is my life’s ‘profile picture’ and I’ve liked it myself.
I love sketching.
It’s not artistic, but it is elegant.
Also ironically, three dimensional and inside my body.

If you want to connect with me on Facebook, click here.
Instagram handle: @myspirals

Previous post : The war has ended.
Related post : Palettes of life.

The one with women.

The number in the first two statistics are true and have been taken from here and here. This is here to spread awareness, and not to degrade or leave out men. Smile everyone! Also, leave a comment telling about what problems any one of you have faced.

One in every six women has been sexually assaulted,
and accused of “asking for it”,
or facing it because men,
(being the beasts that they can sometimes be),
cannot control their desires and should not be blamed for it.

One in every four women has been denied opportunities,
of climbing the gold-coated staircase.
The staircase of power and creative possibilities,
has been reserved for men,
(and at times women who agree to sleep with them).

One in every two women has a horror story,
to tell that will send shivers up your very existence,
for the story monsters are human beings
with pride horns and intentions like a sharp crooked teeth,
and darkness that doesn’t go away with a switch.

One in every one woman has given her all,
so that mankind can be kind,
and the world can be truly called a beautiful place.

If you want to connect with me on Facebook, click here.
Instagram handle: @myspirals

Previous post: Family.
Related post: Life.

A list of things about her.

This is probably the shortest poem I’ve written so far, but I really liked the concept and wanted to do it. I hope you enjoy this and share it!

Here is a list of things she smelled of:

Sunlight.
Beginnings.
Expensive perfume.
Hot chocolate.
Feelings.

and a list of things she looked like:

A crisp white shirt.
Sushi.
Sunset.
Christmas lights.
Love.

A list of things she reminded me of:

Empty vodka bottles.
Terraces and stars.
Neck kisses.
Smeared mascara.
The color of sunlight after it hits a bottle of whiskey.
Life.

A list of things she was:

A dragon-slayer.
A smile despite a tiring day.
A favorite song on repeat.
My auto-correct.
Human and alive.
Home..
Mine.

If you want to connect with me on Facebook, click here.
Instagram handle: @myspirals

Previous post: How to: Be poetry.
Related post: Damn, your eyes.